“Yeah,” he replied, pointing to my discarded Manolo Blahniks in front of the Coke machine. “Nobody touched them, but I was about to throw them next if the phone didn’t work. You know I’ll beat a bitch with some heels if I have to.” He snapped his fingers, back to the sassy Rio I knew and loved.
“If you had messed them up, I’d have killed you myself.” The jokes were a welcome release of tension for both of us. I got back to business. “Speaking of phones, I take it you reached Daddy ’n ’em before you used it as a lethal weapon.”
“Yeah. And it worked, I guess. Sure didn’t seem like it at first. Orlando had me dial the number to this guy called Road Map. They had Alejandro on the other phone or somethin’, everyone screamin’ ’n shit—including me. Everything stopped not long after I dialed the number, though. Right around when I had to throw the phone at the door. Then it all just stopped. No noise. Nothing. I thought they’d killed you. Thought I was about to die too ... but no one ever came back.”
“No need to try and make sense of it now. We just need to count our blessings and get the hell out of here. Need to find a phone ASAP too,” I said as I bent down to put my shoes back on my sore dogs.
“Oh shit, Paris! You been shot.”
“I have?” I saw blood right before I met the floor with a harsh thud.
London
53
“Harris thinks this is my fault, doesn’t he?”
Junior shrugged his shoulders as he handed me my phone. “I don’t know, sis.”
Oh, he knew, but he was trying to stay impartial, which pissed me the hell off. He was my brother; he should have had my back no matter what, even if it was my fault my baby was taken.
I walked toward the back door of the mansion, unable to control the tears that escaped from my eyes. I raised my hand at Junior, who was right on my heels, so that he wouldn’t follow me outside. He hadn’t let me out of his sight since we’d walked through the door.
“I’m not going anywhere. I’m just going to get some fresh air. Can you give me some space so I can fucking breathe?”
I was out the door before he could answer me. I wasn’t trying to be rude to Junior, especially not after the way he’d broken every speed record known to man to get to me when I called for help after the kidnapping. I just needed to be alone—to hate Harris and this life that had taken my daughter.
As I dialed Tony’s number, I felt like I was on the verge of a mental breakdown. “Tony, honey, I... I need to see you,” I whispered into the phone.
“Can’t. I’m in the middle of something.”
Why now, of all times, was he saying no? He’d never refused to hook up with me in the past. As a matter of fact, he was always the eager one, but not this time. This time he sounded distracted, uninterested.
“Tony, I need to see you,” I repeated. “Something terrible has happened.”
“Look, I’m busy, all right? I don’t have time to be holding your hand because your nail broke.” His patronizing attitude was something new. I was taken aback, but I persisted, sharing with him the horror of my daughter’s kidnapping.
I finished with, “And all my husband did was yell at me and say it was my fault. When this is all over and I have Mariah back... I want to run away with you, Tony.”
His reaction nearly knocked me off my feet. “Look, I’m sorry about your daughter, but I’ve got problems of my own.” Who the hell was this man? What happened to the sweet, kind man who’d swept me off my feet? I was seeing a whole new side to him.
“Tony, I need you. You’re the only one who can make me whole,” I pleaded as the tears flowed freely.
He sighed loudly. “You sure you don’t want to do this some other time? I mean, with your daughter missing and all, shouldn’t you be with your family?”
That stung a little bit. Family loyalty. Maybe Mariah’s kidnapping was punishment for me and Harris, for not staying loyal to each other and our marriage.
“Please, Tony,” I persisted. “Just for a little while.”
He finally relented, saying, “Meet me at the Howard Beach Motor Lodge in twenty minutes. I’ll text you the room number.”